


That Damn Ringing

by AnAmberedBee_011



Series: Twinkle Toes and Whiskey Glows [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU after S2Ep5, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty oh god the Melodramatic Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Betty Also Curses Because I Can't Censor Myself That Well, Betty Finds a New Support System, Black Hood - Freeform, Character Bonding, Eventual Empowered Betty, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Plot Erasure Because I Can't, Slow Burn, Underage Binge Drinking, Underage Sex with an Adult, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-03-01 10:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13292724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnAmberedBee_011/pseuds/AnAmberedBee_011
Summary: *On Hiatus*While obeying the Black Hood; Betty finds herself unable to handle everything.  No more friends to help her, her family never supported her, how is she going to be able to be 'Perfect Betty'?  She's not.  She needs an outlet, and someone who she knows is incapable of judging her.Grouped in a Betty/FP Collection of my own for thematic purposes, not necessarily for story continuation means.





	1. That Damn Ringing

**Author's Note:**

> I own none of the characters herein, they're just helping me chase my plot bunnies.
> 
> Please be gentle, my writing style is forged with novice skill and no editor. But also hey, it's fanfic lighten up.
> 
> Trigger warnings for emotional abuse, self-harm, underage drinking, alcoholism, underage consensual sex, (if I miss anything please feel free to let me know.)
> 
> So Please, enjoy the fic!
> 
>  

* * *

  
  
It started the way most of the decisions she’s made for herself start...with a ‘fuck it’.  When she decided to drink rum at the back to school party in eighth grade (which ended with her puking all over her bright white sneakers; wasn’t _that_ a bitch to clean and hide.)  When she dumped all of Polly’s makeup out her window to hide it from her mom, back in middle school (hint hint, older sisters do not care _why_ you ruined their makeup, just that you did.) When she popped those diet pills every other class freshman year to stay so very awake and...well….not care that she was starving…  When she kissed Veronica back at cheerleading try-outs (faux-embarrassing much.)  When she told Veronica and Archie to make out at the Blossoms….  She could continue, but why belabour the point.   
  
And well really, stepping out of her mother’s plan is not her strong suit.  Betty isn’t good at lying.  Betty isn’t good at hiding.  Betty _isn’t_ good.   
  
So fuck it, it was.   
  
Screw Veronica for just letting her go.  She’s tried to be a good friend, she emulated the best parts of every friend pairing she’d ever read even!  Easy come easy go applies for friendships too though she supposes.     
  
Now Kevin; he hurt.  She hadn’t even gotten a text to see if she was okay after that night.  Years of sharing hopes and fears, and he didn’t even notice how different she was.  Never has she said anything negative about his choices or judgement, just expressed light hurt here and there.  Nights sneaking in phone calls to talk about everything from school, TV and yes, boys, and she didn’t even warrant a text?! She was just convenient for him. Another social outcast who wasn’t truly undesirable.   
  
And Jug.  Fuck.  He hurt the most.  She knew he had so many more important things to stress about.  He was so involved in the Serpents he couldn’t look at any of it objectively.  Betty couldn’t fault him for that.  Another chance at family? One who would actually understand the pain of a broken home, living in a trailer park, and not knowing if there was dinner.  People who didn’t have teammates who made a sport of mocking you every day.  A school that wasn’t constantly trying to blame you for anything….everything….at all.  She couldn’t compete with that.  She’d tried and it just hurt.  
  
So. Damn. Much.   
  
She couldn’t take the pain anymore.  She was selfish, is selfish.  She can admit that to herself at least.  Perhaps Alice Cooper was right about something after all.   
  
When the threat against Archie came...she couldn’t take it anymore.  She needed someone to help her hold her pieces together.  She needed it. Just someone who she didn’t have to smile at.   
  
She knows her problems aren’t REAL.  They’re not awful the way some people have it.    
  
She can deal with a little hunger.  She can deal with stressing out about stupid homework that won’t even matter in a month.  She can deal with the constant reminders of how she could be better left around the house.  A little post-it here and there for a few extra jumping jacks.  To use the whitening tooth strips.  To sit up straight.  To wash everything twice, she’s too stupid to do it right the first time of course.  The pre-packed doctor approved diet meal plan.  The damn pills...everywhere...so that she wouldn’t have to think pesky thoughts…..feel _unpleasant_ feelings.  The constant lectures on how much better she could be.  That she has so much she needs to achieve to even break even on the effort Alice has invested in her.  That she could be just so... _perfect_...if she tried just a little harder.   
  
But she yearns.    
  
Being with Juggie filled a hole she didn’t know was gaping in her chest.  Just sitting with him smoothed over all the rough edges and let her forget to panic.  Let her unclench her hands and smooth out her fingers.   
  
Without him she’s starting to haunt her bathroom again.  She’s sneaking antiseptic ointment like jingle jangle around her house.    
  
She’s drawing more lines on her legs.     
  
Up high, where no one would ever see.  She’s perfect Betty Cooper, no one goes under those shorts.   
  
No worrying about blood dripping onto anything.   
  
But, she concedes, (if just to herself,) this is unacceptable. She loses time every line she makes.     
  
And sometimes…   
  
The time lasts too long.  She opens her eyes and it’s been an hour or more.  Just sitting there, where someone could find her.   
  
She wonders if she isn’t hoping for someone to find her sometimes.   
  
So she went to someone she knew wouldn’t judge her.   
  
Someone factually unable to judge her.   
  
She went and found Forsythe Pendleton Jones II.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
Taking the half-empty bottle out of FP’s hand, Betty leans back and open-throat swallows nearly four fingers worth of whiskey.  As she coughs roughly (the whiskey _burns_ damnit,) he stirs on the couch.  She knows where the extra key is (in the mailbox,) because Jughead had lamented to her more than once he worried about the damn thing being lost.   
  
Perfect Betty had even made him a copy the day after he complained to her. Which he lost. Immediatly.     
  
_Fuck_.   
  
At the thought of Jug Betty took another swig.  Feeling the burn settle down to her chest, she turns her gaze back onto FP.  Work boots still on and leather jacket dangling from one arm, he is, she mused, still mostly on the couch.    
  
Face down.     
  
In the back of her head a little voice comments that she could wake him up and make sure that he at least gets to bed.  Put a glass of water next to him for when he wakes up.   
  
Betty tips the bottle and sips more whiskey, toasting to the voice.  Fuck the voices in her head.  She’s done helping everyone else tonight.  Done helping anyone but herself tonight.     
  
She instead slouches down to the floor, kicking her boots off and sprawling her legs out into the room. Settling her back more firmly against the couch Betty just opens her phone to a picture of Jug, Ronnie, Kevin, and Archie at Pops a few weeks ago.  Jug looks exasperated; but secretly happy.  Ronnie is giving soul-eyes to Archie who is looking down wherever his hands are.  Kev is posing almost too perfectly, with laughter in his eyes.     
  
Betty drinks again.  She’s going to drink tonight until she can’t see this picture anymore.     
  
Take that Alice Cooper; I’m still setting goals, bitch, she thinks.   
  
Fuck.  That was a voice in her head.  Time to drink.   
  
She dares the Black Hood to call now.  She doesn’t have anyone left for him to hurt.  She doesn’t care anymore.     
  
Damn.    
  
That was the end of the bottle.   
  
Contemplating searching the trailer for another bottle; Betty decided to make FP do it instead.  He lives here after all.    
  
“Hey, Mr. Jones.”  she starts.   
  
No reply, but of course.   
  
She stomps on the grounds, kicking until she realizes that first, that kinda hurts. Secondly, that she’s not wearing her boots anymore.   
  
“FP.”  nothing again.    
  
“FORSYTHE.”  A little stir from the couch.  Figures that would be the one he’d register, she comments.   
  
“Well, it is my name.”   
  
Apparently she said that out loud?   
  
“You still are Betty.”   
  
Huh.   
  
“Betty, what are you doing here? Jughead isn’t here.  He doesn’t come back here anymore.”   
  
Well duh I know that.   
  
“Betty are you drunk? How are you drunk?”  FP wipes his face with his hand.  Trying to massage soberness into his eyes.  Looking down at her he asks her, “Are you okay? Betty?”   
  
“Do you know that you’re the first person to ask me that in a month Mr. J?” Betty replies.  Clenching her fists and looking down, she adds, “I’ve actually been keeping count.  It might be more than that.  That’s just how long I’ve cared.”   
  
“Uh, Betty.  You’re going to have to give me more than that.  What’s going on?”  Struggling to sit up FP finally just gives up and rolls over on the couch.   
  
“No.”   
  
“No? No what?”   
  
“I’m not here to talk I’m here to forget.  I’m here to be numb.”   
  
“To be numb? What’s going on? Alice is going to kill me.”   
  
“Not her. The other one.”   
  
“The other one?” FP actually does sit up at this. “Hal?  What’s happened Betty?”   
  
“God you’re annoying.  Dad didn’t do anything. He never does anything.  Shut up.  I just need more liquor.  Find some.  Please.”  There, Betty thinks.  She’s even still being polite.   
  
“More Liquor. What? Have you been…?” At this point FP’s drunk mind catches up to the fact that this is indeed his son’s girlfriend sitting on the floor of his trailer alone.  Drunk.  Holding his empty bottle of whiskey.  Concerns spreads across his face and he actually falls off the couch sitting up too fast.    
  
Betty snorts.  “Thanks Mr. Jones I needed that.  But really I just need more whiskey.  And quiet.  The you-not-talking kind.”  Reaching behind her head to stretch Betty stands up and only wobbles slightly extending her hand to help up FP.   
  
Looking consternated, FP takes her hand and just looks at her.   
  
Betty sighs.  He’s not going to be much help unless she tells him something.  She can tell.  Well.  Here goes something.  Hopefully he doesn’t try call her mom.  At least until she’s drunk enough not to care. More drunk anyway.  Right now she’s stil reasonably sure she could beat him to the phone if she had to.   
  
“Jughead broke up with me.  I’m not talking to Archie, or Ronnie...anyone really. I just need to be able to forget for awhile and you’re the resident expert.  Can’t be much to it, but if anyone has the art down it’s you.” Betty pushes the words out at him.  Shut up. She thinks.  “I didn’t come here for a therpah….whatever, talk-sesh.” She stumbles a bit over the words as the whiskey finally starts to overcome her nerves. “I want to be numb.  Are you going to help or am I going to have someone else to buy me something.”   
  
“Whah wait, you’re not going anywhere.” FP gets out before he stands up and goes to block the door, stopping her movement before she realized she was walking. “You’re drunk  Betty, this isn’t you.  What do you mean Jughead and you broke up? When?  Who knows you’re here?” FP manages to say in one breath.   
  
Betty rests back, tapping one foot.  She’s had enough of this.  She just wanted to drink enough not to notice her phone if it rings.  Why is he making it so complicated.  She’s a little tipsy and the reasoning is still pretty simple to her.  “You drink Mr. Jones.  It’s what you do.  I need to drink right now, so enable, or whatever bad parents do.  Jughead’s told me enough that I wouldn't have thought this would be an issue.”  She didn’t think she’d really have to convince him, or debate anything tonight.   
  
FP looked more ragged at that and rubbed his face again.  Looks like her bad parent comment had hit him harder than she intended.  No. Bad Betty.  No more thinking of others tonight, she tells herself.  Struggling to maintain eye-contact she shifts her weight, and waits.   
  
Leaning against the door he looked at her.  Then gesturing around at the trailer he said “This isn’t what I wanted for my family Betty.  I was just too selfish to say no.  I wanted them with me, I wanted Jug with me.  I ruined him because I didn’t know how to let him go.”   
  
“Well you don’t have to worry about ruining me.  I’m already grown up.  Now are you going to help me or not?”  Betty stared at him through already-foggy green eyes.  Not lost on FP were the red rims, or the blood smears barely visible, but still very there, on her hands.   
  
“And where are you going to go if I say no?” FP ventures.   
  
Betty didn’t have an answer for him.  She just looked down at her phone, and back up at him.     
  
Whatever he saw in her face, he slowly just nodded.  “I’m a drunk Betty.  You do not want to deal with things my way.”   
  
“I can’t deal my way anymore.” She said in a quiet voice.    
  
No sure if he could hear her or not, she turned and walked into the little kitchenette.   She’d look for something herself.     
  
Starting after her, FP looks like he wants to argue.   
  
Betty has had enough words.   
  
She needs to be numb. Now.  So she CAN’T answer the phone. It’s getting to be time for her night-cap of dread.   
  
On the third cabinet she opens, he reaches across the space and touches her shoulder. “There’s nothing in the kitchen.”  He explains as he retreats back into the living room, reaching under the couch and holding out the twin to the bottle she had her lips around earlier.    
  
Holding it back when she reaches for it he just says one thing. “It’s this or your hands. Not both.”   
  
Looking down she can see shes broken the skin on her palms again, noticing blood smeared across them.  Looking back up, she makes eye contact with two disturbingly sober orbs for the scene she walked into.   
  
“Fine.”  She hears herself say.  “For today.”   
  
He acquiesces, and gives her the bottle. Like she knew he would.  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
That was two weeks ago.  Four times now she’s found herself back in front of this couch; drinking.  Twice whatever swill she found him still holding onto.  Once with a bottle of vodka she’d lifted at one of Cheryl’s parties.  Once with a bottle of spiced rum with a naked woman on it.     
  
That last time. That was interesting.     
  
She had shown up with a tube of jingle jangle (god what a fucked name for a drug.)     
  
She’d scored one off Reggie by letting him cop a feel.  If she weren’t so numb all the time now she’s sure she would’ve felt dirty at the, transaction, behind the gym.  She had expected a little sneer or something from FP, but he was a Serpent.  She’s sure he could’ve gotten it at a discount. Instead he grabbed it off the ground where she dropped it after letting herself in again.  He grabbed her wrist tighter than a handcuff and dragged her to the tiny little bathroom in the back.  Pouring it out while he made sure she watched, she couldn’t even work herself up to be mad. Just disappointed.  Maybe that would’ve worked.  Maybe it would’ve made her forget.   
  
“Never. Again. In. My. House.” He ground out.  Voice low and more dangerous than she’d ever heard it.   It made enough of an impression that she didn’t have to fake the shock and confusion on her face as they looked at eachother. “You will never do that garbage Betty, do you hear me.” FP continued.     
  
“Or what?” she lilted out, curious despite herself.   
  
“Never.”   
  
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes.  “But you’re buying something interesting for me to drink then.”  
  
A beat of silence. Another beat.  
  
“Fine.” He finally returned, after a healthy does of silently glowering at her. Continuing to drag her along he grabbed his leather jacket from the couch and shoved it at her. When they were through the front door and in front of his truck, FP finally released her arm.  “Get in.”   
  
“Fine Mr. Bossypants.  You know they won’t sell you anything at the stores when I’m with you though.” she remarked as the engine turned over. “Also you’re truck is fucked.  You really need to take it in.”  She couldn’t help herself from saying as the car shook out of the driveway.   
  
“This is the Southside Betty.” As if that answered everything.   “This isn’t  a pleasure cruise.  We go in, you grab a bottle of whatever the hell, and we leave.  No fancy shit and no talking.” he looked at her pointedly. “Besides,” he continued, a little put-out sounding, “There’s nothing wrong with Whitney.”   
  
“Whitney?” She pulled back and looked at him.  Who the heck was Whitney?   
  
“My bike is Bobby, my truck is Whitney.” was the flat reply.   
  
Jesus H. Christ, what was it with weird shit and Pendleton men? Had Jughead named his laptop? She started to search her memory, then stopped abruptly.  Reality hitting and the pain of her loss settling in again.   
  
  
  
  
She couldn’t help herself when she saw the bottle.  Fully nude ‘ _au natural_ ’ island girl on the outside of the bottle.  She actually chuckled a little when she grabbed it.  Turning the label so FP wouldn’t see it, they were in and out of the store in 5 min flat.   
  
Flipping her wrist as they got back into the car, Betty looked over at him and “So is this shit any good or did I grab a dud?”   
  
For a second the look on his face made a slight smile tug at her mouth.   
  
Apparently you can still shock your ex-bf’s dad who you’ve been getting blitzed with for weeks.    
  
Good to know.   
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
Less good to know, is that the asshole actually cares.  About her.  He thinks it’s some sort of protective uncle thing, helping her get smashed “responsibly.”    
  
How did she come to know this? In a drunken ramble as she was slipping away after drinking the Island-Girl rum.  He was trying to have a heart to heart and she was just trying to block out the world. Finally she just waved one of her arms out and covered her face.  Hoping he’d take the hint.  Something needed to stop him, three-syllable words and drunk Betty did not mix.   
  
Fortunately for her, something did stop him. Nature heralded her call and he left for the bathroom.   
  
It’s on that fifth visit her luck ran out and her cell rings.    
  
Panic still fills her body against her will, each time.  White hot and freezing together, she feels her heart start to cramp and pain lightenings through her chest. Drunker than she’s ever even seen anyone at a high school party, she still can’t stop the panic attack.    
  
FP comes out of the bathroom to see her scared shitless in the middle of the living room, barely breathing, staring at her phone like it’s going to explode.   
  
No, No , No NONO NONOnono  NO no no NON NONOOOO is all that’s going through her head.    
  
Later, she’ll worry that he found out she’s been sneaking out to this trailer.  Wonder if he followed her. Wonder what hellish request she’d thwarted.  It was only the night before that he made her read to him for four hours.  Four entire hours of just her voice reading aloud Huckle-goddamn-Berry Finn.   
  
At the time her mind is just blanket white hot panic and FP assumes it’s Alice. Or Jughead. Or Veronica, or anyone else he can guess.  He assumes she’s avoiding a positive influence, he calls them.     
  
By the time she can move her head enough to look at him, the phone is ringing again and he’s reaching for it.   
  
“NO!” she screams, grabbing for his arm and holding it to her in a vise-grip.  She can’t take it this time.  For whatever reason, right now, here, she says no.     
  
Her mind has compartmentalized these bouts with FP and the trailer into “safe.”  She can’t even think, but autopilot Betty refuses to let this last inch of sanity be stripped away.    
  
Her face ashen, she looks up at FP. “You can’t ever answer my phone.” She whispers. “It’s not safe.”   
  
After giving her a few, understandably, weird looks, he finally stops reaching for the phone.  Trying to talk her down, into breathing, relaxing, she finally realizes she’s still holding his arm against her. Even more embarrassed she releases him, making up excuses that may just be the most unconvincing things she’s ever said to him.  Right up there with “I’m fine.”   
  
“Who is it that you’re avoiding Betty.” he asks.  Looking her right in the eyes, not letting her hide, he ventures again, “Was that your mother? Was it….was it Jughead?” his voice breaks a little on the last.   
  
A merciless laugh pries itself from her lips before she can help it. “No one calls me anymore Mr. J.  That’s just it.”   
  
Confused now, he rounds on her as she starts to look for the current bottle of choice. “Betty. You’re phone just rang. Twice.  Someone is definitely calling you.”  He cocks his heads watching her wander around the living room, hands fluttering, obviously struggling not to carving her palms with her nails again.  “Who was that-”   
  
“No one.” She breaks in. “Just. Don’t ever answer.” She follows with. “Please.”  
  
She can’t meet his eyes, and that’s when he goes back into his shpiel.  How he doesn't understand her running away from her friends, is it a new boyfriend? He can’t keep doing this.... all the classic lines.   
  
Eventually he winds down, just crosses his arms and stares at her.   
  
By this point she’s pulled up his bottle du jour from the rickety coffee table and is a fifth of the way through. Some shitty cinnamon whiskey, but it’s lending her a little liquid courage.     
  
“It’s dangerous.” She whispers angrily.  Not sure if they’re being watched at this exact moment, she’s too tired to even properly care.  “I’m not killing Juggie’s dad.” slips out before she can help it.  Not looking at him, she misses not just the widening of his eyes but the tensing of every arm muscle.  
  
  
Ten minutes and half the bottle down, FP is still actively trying not to punch things.  She can tell because he’ll ask her a question about the phone, or the caller, and every time she doesn’t answer he paces to another part of the living room.  It’s entertaining enough and she’s tipsy enough now that it’s almost endearing.  He still hasn’t given up though.  Impressive, she thinks.  
  
  
Twenty minutes later now, and three-quarters of the bottle gone, just to her, he’s less endearing.  Now he’s an annoying angry bear that’s making her head hurt and she’s just nauseous.   Or maybe she’s supposed to be the angry bear? Something about poking people.  She reaches out to poke him, and just grunts when she can’t reach him.     
  
“Are you ready to tell me anything yet Betty?” comes that annoying voice.  She shuts her eye and just groans. “I’m not going to stop until you tell me something.  You can’t just tell me it’s dangerous to answer YOUR OWN PHONE and then refuse to explain.”     
  
He’d flickered between pissed/angry, and glowering for the past half hour.  Always looking at her, continually demanding answers, and clenching his own fists hard enough that they were white.  When she warned him away from hurting his hands he’d actually growled at her.   
  
Hoping he would tire himself out, he was making her head hurt just watching him, she sat down on the floor.  Leaning back against the couch she started to massage her upper thigh.  The light pain kept her awake enough to respond to his questions.  She hadn’t cut in the past couple days so she shouldn’t be reopening anything….hopefully.   
  
“Fine, next time you can read that damn book.” she slurs out before she can help herself.   
  
“What? A book? Reading what book? BETTY.” comes the voice, reeeeaaally close to her head this time.   
  
“I think I’m going to boot.” she murmurs more to herself than anything.   
  
“What? What do you-” he backs up a little bit, trying to see her face.   
  
“No mn, really, I’m going to puke” Betty said a little clearer, trying to push herself back up from her now cramped position on against couch.   
  
“Not here you’re- shit…” FP says as he tries to leap out of the way, and fails. “Fuck.”   
  
“ ‘need more whiskey.” she manages to rebound with almost immediately.   
  
“No you most certainly do not need more anything but food.  Fuck. I don’t have anything here. Shit. I’ll uh, I’m going to order something.” FP says as he runs his hands through his hair and look around a bit wildly. “And clothes. I’ll find you something Jughead left here and..”   
  
“mmNo.  No.” Betty inserts.  “No Jugheads clothes. Sad.”  Looking down, she can feel herself regressing to truly childish needs.   
  
“Christ, Fine, I’m sure I’ve got something here.” he manages as he walks down the hallway towards the bedroom and presumably to find his phone. Meanwhile she looked down and saw what a sloppy drunk she’d been.  Grossly, sloppy. Pulling her shirt off she spared a few seconds to be happy nothing got in her hair.  Crawling over to the bathroom, she grabbed the doorframe in an effort to hoist herself up. Ponytail for the win, she chuckled.  It must’ve startled FP though, because he stuck his head back into the hallway and got a first-hand view of Betty eating shit trying to find her footing on the tile.   
  
“I’m gross. Help me.” She looked at him accusingly.    
  
“How is this my fault at all?” he gamely returned, head disappearing back around the corner.  “You’re the one getting wasted to avoid a phone call, and won’t even let someone else answer for you. “   
  
“You don’t even know!” Betty yelled as she thoroughly embraced being angry wasted.  Usually she just got really sleepy.  This felt more, _productive_ …..more, _alive_.  Flipping the shower on she just stepped in with the rest of her clothes on.  The water will wash away some of the puke, she didn’t ever recall seeing a laundry machine in the trailer.  Lifting her hands up, all she saw was a men’s 3-in-1 shampoo/soap bottle.  Rolling her eyes, she called out her opinion of his bathing products.    
  
Fuck it, she tossed out and stripped her clothes off and scrubbed herself Alice Cooper clean.   
  
Finishing up she started to look around for a towel and notice that there  _of course_ weren’t any.  
  
Well, I definitely need more whiskey now, she thought.  The shower sobered her up much more than she bargained for. “I need a towel please, and definitely more whiskey.” She called out.  She wasn’t entirely sure wet and cold was much better than warm but puke covered honestly.   
  
A towel hit her somewhere around the knees and a voice called out from down the hallway that she’d be having pizza, and no more whiskey until she explained herself.   
  
Damn pushy ass, she thought as she dried herself off and wrapped her hair up in the towel.  Now to find clothes. She wandered across the hall and into the bedroom (of course after making sure the coast was clear.)  Finding nothing remotely usable, she settled on a t-shirt where she could tie the bottom into a knot and a pair of mostly-clean looking gym shorts with a drawstring.     
  
At least everything is covered she remarks as she wanders around looking for a hidden bottle under the bed.  If he won’t help her, she can help herself.   
  
Forgetting the fact that she’s so comfortable in the trailer now that she’s rummaging around in FP’s belongings, she nearly misses the opening chime of the ring tone.  Her head whips up and she’s halfway down the hallway before the song registers in her conscious mind.  
  
He’s reaching for it, fingers brushing the keypad for a  mere second before she collides into him.  All knees and elbows she kicks the phone away across the room and under the couch as she attempts to sit on him.   
  
“No. FP stop.  Don’t answer it. Please. No. You can’t…” she begs, pleading with him as her hands fist in the shirt he’s wearing and he tries to dislodge her.   
  
“Betty what’s going on, who is that and why is-” he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.  They look at eachother.  Neither willing to get up first, both wanting to get the cell phone.  The knock comes again and He gets up, brushes his shirt a bit and looks through the look-though.  Meanwhile she dives for the phone the second he’s heading towards the door.  Head whipping back, he whisper-screams “It’s Jughead.”   
  
Dropping the phone, Betty books it down the hallway.  Running for literally any place to hide, all she can think of is maybe the corner of FP’s closet under some clothes.  She just covers her head as she hear his voice.  Juggie’s voice, after weeks and weeks.  So close.  Tears she know she doesn’t have a right to squeeze out of her eyes.  FP is brusque in tone, but she can’t hear what they’re saying.  Oh god. _More_ voices.  They’re not coming in are they?     
  
Feeling her pulse in her throat she tries to think if she left anything out in the living room, but she’s slowly easing into a panic attack.  Breathe, breathe, in-out, in-out. Thinking back to the way FP counted out his breathes earlier trying to talk her down; she calms a bit.  He had looked so very freaked out; it was a different side than she’d seen before.  She wonders if Juggie has ever seen his dad like that.   
  
That sobers her the fuck up. She pays closer attention to the voices, but they all still sound like they’re at the front door still. Jug, FP, Sweet-Pea and maybe another boy or two she’s doesn’t really know.   
  


Of course she’s not a part of his life anymore, she would have no idea who he hangs out with.    
  
Feeling the wave of sadness begin to crest over her, she fights it. Fuck being sad.  She’s so goddamn tired of mourning her losses.    
  
She looks around pissed instead now.  Why is she hiding. She’s literally hiding in a damn closet.  Feeling the angry drunk start to rise in her again she looks out into the hallway, debating just walking out.  He would have a fucking heart attack then huh.  Freshly showered, in FP’s cloths, she knows what she looks like.  Not even a fucking bra; she wonders if he would even care anymore.  Shit. There’s the sadness. Whoah, whiskey is a damn emotional roller coaster she decides firmly.   
  
Shaking her head a bit,  Betty comes to decision. Fuck it. She starts to walk out of the bedroom and down the hallway.  As she rounds the corner into the living area FP notices her out of the corner of his eye, and immediately angles his body to block her from view after a tinge of panic enters his eyes.   
  
“Not tonight Jughead, sorry, I’m a bit busy.” he nearly barked out.   
  
“Wha-” she could her Jug starting, but his dad cut him off. “Not tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow. “ FP waves his hand. His hand. A hand holding her phone.  She struggles to swallow.  He’s holding the phone.  Her phone. In its signature teal case.  A previous fuck-it choice because not everything she owns just _has_ to be Betty Cooper pink.  The phone case that Jug has seen a million times in her hands.  Does he, will he recognize it? Crap. Betty’s steps falter as reality edges in a bit closer to her brain.   
  
“New pho-?” Jughead gets cut off as FP firmly closes the door.  He spins around and just looks at her.  She stares back.  He starts to say something, but stops. Cutting himself off.    
  
“Well.” he finally manages, voice a bit strangled. She reaches out her hand, towards the phone but not breaking eye contact.  He pulls it back into himself a bit and she’s forced to step closer.    
  
“The phone-” she starts, but he cuts her off immediately “No. Now you answer some questions.”he stated.  Daring her to challenge him.  He drew himself up, rolled his shoulders back and waited for her objection.  Her mouth was dry.  She was trying to think of ways to trick him into giving her phone back, but nothing would work.  He was way too stubborn about this.   
  
“One question.” she countered.  
  
“All of them.” he rebounded.  
  
“Three.” she was fucked with even one question she knew.  It’s not like he was going to make it easy on her.  
  
“Betts…..”He started hesitantly as he leed towards her, phone in hand goin down to his side.  
  
“Three.” She stood. Resolved.  She was a Cooper damnit and she could avoid the truth whilst still not lying with the best of them.  It had been drilled into her from day one after all.   
His eyes concerned, he didn’t say anything else.  They’d reached a detante.  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
Not bad for a first chapter right? :} Hope you enjoyed it! Aiming for the next to be up during the week.  
  
  



	2. Just Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty has no idea how she's going to tell FP anything. How's she NOT going to tell him any of it? Three Questions...can she out-Cooper his Jones?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait until the update. Work has been especially crazy these past couple weeks. Things should improve hereon however! I apologize for this chapter being a whole lot of build-up too. I just wanted to get something up!
> 
> As always I own none of the characters herein, I'm just having fun.
> 
>  
> 
> \-----Last Time-------
> 
>  
> 
> “One question.” she countered.
> 
> “All of them.” he rebounded.
> 
> “Three.” she was fucked with even one question she knew. It’s not like he was going to make it easy on her.
> 
> “Betts…..”He started hesitantly as he leed towards her, phone in hand goin down to his side.
> 
> “Three.” She stood. Resolved. She was a Cooper damnit and she could avoid the truth whilst still not lying with the best of them. It had been drilled into her from day one after all.   
> His eyes concerned, he didn’t say anything else. They’d reached a detante.

* * *

**Just Breathe**  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Fingering the bottom of the worn t-shirt she threw on, Betty bites her lip and tries to think.   Does she need to be more of less drunk for this?  On the one hand it would be a hell of a lot easier to get drunker and dampen the feelings again.  On the other hand she was actually starting to feel kinda nauseous from all the liquor and no food.  FP _ might’ve  _ had a point there.  She’d learned early on from parties at Cheryl’s that drunken puking was not an enjoyable experience.      
  
And fuck; FP was  _ the  _ professional drinker.  It was the whole original reasoning behind seeking him out for this shit. Well, part of it at least.   
  
She was reaping the consequences for that decision faster than she thought though.  She had assumed The Black Hood would figure it out sooner rather than later, and just force her to stop.  She hadn’t thought anything would happen because Jones actually  _ cared.   _ For fucks sake Juggie had rather lived in the drive-in's projector booth than sleep in the same trailer as the man.     
  
Like every time she tried to make a decision for herself, it blew up in her face. Or well, it would soon at least.  There’s no way this conversation ends well.  Not even if she were in peak Cooper evasive mode.  Looking down still at her toes still, she wondered who’d break the silence first.   Perhaps she could head it off and distract him with food? Then get him to drink himself into stupors-ville again?  While true he usually attempted to stay awake at least when she was over, it seemed like a war with results varying battle to battle.    
  
Fisting her hands in the hemline of the rough cotton, she opened her mouth still staring hard at the floor.   
  
“Before anything happens, you were right, I need food in me.  I need to be shitfaced for this, and I’m already approaching sick from not eating.”  She murmured.  A little compliment, a little planning….hopefully she could at least minimize the chance of FP exploding at her.  She’d never actually had occasion to see FP Jones II angry or violent in more than a generally destructive kind of way.  He was in a gang though...sooo…..better to head that off if she can.  The plan again would be to get him to relax and drink more.   Hopefully _ with _ her.      
  
FP released a large sigh and stepped forwards.  Handing the phone to her, his feet finally crossed into her sight line.  He pressed her phone into the back of her hand, forcing her to release the shirt, and said “Call whatever you want to eat.  I trust you know the address.”   
  
Surprised, she looked up at him.  He gave her the phone!? He had literally just handed her her phone back.  She could run out now and she’d never have to tell him anything.  Seeing the widening of her eyes, FP shrugged.   “You gave your word.  I’m assuming you’re good for it.”   
  
Ohh that little shit. He knew exactly what he was doing.     
  
But….He wasn’t wrong.  She’d never even planned on lying, and fleeing wasn’t really an option realistically.  Jughead might still be out there after all.   
  
Shit. She grimaced.  Hopefully Jug was just too preoccupied with his Serpent shit to put the dots together.  Yeah she parked a couple blocks away every time she came over, or used a Lyft, but her phone case was pretty damning.  And _of course_   she had driven tonight.  Please just don’t let him remember tomorrow.  And  _ please _ let him not be hanging around later when she needs to leave.   And  _ please GOD _   let none of the neighbors in the trailer park be observant  _ and  _ talkative. One shitstorm at a time.  Well really, her life had been a neverending shitstorm lately…..but not ANOTHER one. Unless maybe they would cancel each other out?   
  
FP shifted his weight and that broke her out of her thoughts.  Seeing the question in his eyes, she popped an eyebrow.  She wasn’t going to turn tail and run away from this.  She was indeed Betty Cooper and she did indeed stand by her word.     
  
“The only places that deliver here are Antonia’s Pizzaria on Main and Chop Shop Chinese on Hickery.” He imparted upon her as she pressed her lips further together.  “Plain if you get pizza, General Tso’s if you don’t.”   
  
“Ever used UberEATS here?  They’ll drive anywhere for a big enough tip, and I’m craving Pop’s.”  She countered, crossing her arms to match his posture.  Jug had such a soft spot for Pop’s, maybe FP did too.  Brownies points may be on the table waiting to be scooped up, and she needed him as mellow as possible.     
  
“If you can get Pop’s delivered out here, I’ll knock off a question.”  FP said slowly, raising his own eyebrow in return.   
  
Holy shit, fuck yeah, Pop’s.  Don’t let me down Ubereats, Betty desperately plead to herself as she immediately looked down at her phone.   
  
Seeing the screen, she cringed, not even realizing how much she physically flinched as she did.   _ Three Missed Calls _ . Fuuuuuuck.  No text message.  One number.  Whenever he called her, he never stopped until she answered.  He  _ always _ sent text messages galore too.  Threatening her family, friends, random people on the street within eyeline.     
  
The last time she hadn’t answered, he had sent a lovely, very descriptive text detailing how sad it would be if the nice lady in the purple sweater (who’d been in the supermarket line ahead of her at the time,) had an accident at home later.  That it was too bad how slippery carpeted stairs were, and how awfully loud her neck would likely snap.  That it would be so heartbreaking to leave the young son beside her, bereft of her, for his formative years.  That he wondered if Betty would cry reading her obituary in the paper; knowing that she was responsible.    
  
_ No messages _ .  That meant no menacing voice mails either.  No sweet nothings about how she was the pure, virginal savior of the town if only she would embrace it.   She nearly missed FP staring at her more intensely as the seconds passed by.  She just needed to swipe past that screen to order food.  One swipe.  One action.  All she had to do was slide her finger across the screen and ignore the alert.    Vision narrowing to the bright little screen in front of her, she could feel her heart start to pump more furiously.  She could hear herself breathing louder and see her fingers turning white the tighter she held the phone.   She couldn’t stop herself. Shit.  She no longer felt in control of her body.  If she were still drunker she wouldn’t be edging into a panic attack, but with everything the last half-hour or so…….her adrenaline had already been spiking and now she couldn’t back herself down.  Faster and faster her breathes started to come, and she felt the pain begin in her chest.  The first time she’d had a panic attack she had literally thought she was dying.  She thought she was going into cardiac arrest in the locker room at school because she’d failed an exam. The absolute pain in her chest brought her gasping to her knees, and it took two Valium to be able to walk home that day.    
  
Tonight she had no Valium. Tonight she wasn’t supposed to need any.  She was supposed to be drunk and safe away from the world in her little trailer cocoon, far fucking away from anything and everyone else.   A tear slipped down her cheek as her chest started to pulse with pain, but a hand was suddenly there crushing her into FP’s chest.    
  
“Breathe Betts, _breathe_.”  She dimly heard his voice from above her head. “Swallow the air if you have to, _drown_ in it, but breathe.  In, two three, out, two, three.”  FP continued as he wrapped his other arm around her back as well, the first rubbing up and down in time to his chant. “In, two three, Out, two three, In, two, three, Out, two, three.”  Up to her neck, then down her back to where his shorts were rolled up on her.  Up,  _ pause _ , and down, gently but firmly, as if he was trying to force her to breathe himself.  “Relax, it’s okay, it’ll be okay, just take nice deep breaths and count with me. In...two….three…. C’mon Betts, Out….two….three..”   
  
Time seemed to stop for a few moments.  The sensation of being in her body grew hazy for a moment, then refocused.  
  
A few minutes later Betty felt her chest stop clenching in rythmic pain, and instead rise and fall in time to FP’s hand on her back. She felt the soft, overwashed cotton under her face where she was pressed firmly against him as she heard him continuing to count softly above her head.  Gulping loudly a few times, she gently pulled back from him, eyes first darting to his face, then embarrassed with everything; back down to the floor. He was looking at her with intense eyes, so full of concern she nearly blushed.     
  
“...Thanks..”  She whispered towards the floor and she rand a hand nervously up through her ponytail. “I uh, I thought I was going to be drunk enough not to need the strong meds tonight.” She offered up as explanation, hoping he’d leave it at that.   
  
Hearing no response however, she looked back up the realize FP wasn’t in front of her at the moment but actually walking away towards the kitchen.  Watching him stride away, she hoped he wasn’t even more pissed now.  Her biggest trigger, and the cause of most of her panic attacks, was the very caller he wanted to know about.  After her attack...he definitely wasn’t going to let it go now.   Unless maybe he thought she was just bringing too much drama into his life.  He was a loner, maybe this would be the point where he was done letting the underage teenager drink herself stupid.  Maybe he’d just tell her to leave and not complicate his life again?   
  
As a mug filled with water was shoved under her nose, Betty was forced to life her head up and look at him.  FP held the mug and just pushed towards her again. “Drink.  Used to happen to me.  ‘Need to hydrate now.”  was all he said.   
  
What?! Used to happen to him?  FP Jones II had anxieties?  Finally grabbing the mug with her right and and putting the phone into her left, she sipped a bit.  The water felt gloriously cool sliding down her throat, and she quickly downed the rest of the mug.  Swallowing the last bit, Betty looked up at FP and saw the way he jammed his hands into his pockets a bit too harshly.     
  
“Thanks for….the water, and the...y’know. Breathing.” She managed to get out.  Her chest still felt a bit sore, but her lungs weren’t on fire and her brain didn’t feel like a blanket of electricity was sitting on it, the way she normally felt after a panic attack.  He’s also helped her keep it relatively brief, something she appreciated wholeheartedly.   “You uh, had anxiety?” She ventured when he didn’t respond.    
  
Rolling his neck, FP reached out for the mug and started towards the kitchen again. Following him, she saw him refill the little blue ceramic under the faucet before turning around.  Leaning out towards her with the mug in his hand, he waited until she’d drank half before breaking the silence.     
  
“Gladys and I weren’t ready for a family.  Maybe we would never had been, but we really weren’t when it happened. “  he said whilst gesturing to the room around them.  “Working your ass off to make sure your teenage girlfriend and your infant son can at least live in a trailer isn’t the glamorous life.”  Leaning back on both of his hands, he followed up softly with an, “I never did right by them, and I was terrified as I tried.”   
  
Rubbing his face roughly with one hand almost like her was trying to erase it, FP pierced her with a look and demanded one thing.  
  
“Just promise me you’re not pregnant with the way you’ve been drinking. “   
  
Her shoulders had softened at his admission of what his life had been like, when he wasn’t much older than her.  Now they flung back and up, ridgid with near insult.  A few moments passed where her brain tried to whip around as fast as the conversation's tone.   
  
“Of course I’m not fucking pregnant.  Do you _ really  _ think I would put another human being through this?!”  Thoroughly pissed now, Betty slammed the mug onto the small kitchenette table and brought her phone back up to the screen.     
  
Feeling much better now, thank you very much, now that she was bordering on angry, she swiped across her damn screen, opened UberEATS and ordered enough food from Pop’s to keep FP’s goddamn mouth occupied until she was well and thoroughly smashed again.    
  
Looking back up from her phone after her order was signaled completed, she could feel her brows locked together and her lips still pinched.   
  
“Things are much easier when you’re mad aren’t they.”  FP pointedly said through a half-smirk.  His arms crossed as he leaned against the sink, he looked the phone in her hand pointedly.  “Truth be told I am rather impressed by your fingers of fury.  That’s the fastest typing I think I’ve ever seen.”    
  
“Ha, ha.  Yes thank you.” Betty replied as she popped her hand onto her hips.    
  
It may have helped her, yes, but he was playing dirty.  And if he was going to be like that, then she would play right back.  She’d learned from the best how to twist a situation after all.   “I’m counting that as one of your questions however, Mr. Jones. _  Aaaand  _ since I’ve just ordered enough from Pop’s to feed a small army, that knocks you down to one question.”   
  
“I’ll believe in the Pop’s when I smell it.” he returned, standing up from his position leaning into the counter.  “There’s still is at least one answer I will be given tonight however.”   
  
Sliding her phone into the baggy pocket of the gym shorts she was wearing, Betty turned and walked into the living room. Heading towards the couch, she stops, finally sober enough to remember that she’s not even wearing her bra.  Turning back around and heading into the hallway, she reached the bathroom and sees the sad, soaked pool of her clothes at the bottom of the shower stall.  Fuck.  Picking everything up she hangs each piece over the top of the stall, hoping somehow, thing’s will dry a bit.  They may not have vomit on them anymore, but they sure aren’t wearable.   
  
“You don’t have a dryer here do you?” Betty called down the hall, knowing the answer.     
  
“Uh.  No Betts.  No dryer here.”  FP’s voice returned from down the hall in the living room.   
  
Figures...Men.. She thinks, until she remembers what he had said a few minutes ago in the kitchen.  It’s not like she knows how expensive dryers are.  Sighing, she took a back-up hair tie out of the wet jeans pocket.  She was afraid to take the two around her ponytail out, given the half-wet mess it was now.  She wasn’t drunk enough to be comfortable in the giant-ass t-shirt though, so this way she could at least tie it tighter.   
  
Entered the living room again, she looked at FP and gauged whether or not it was too soon to ask about more whiskey.  She definitely wanted to get more buzzed before having to talk about anything else. She didn’t think FP had unlimited whiskey just lying around however, and she’d already finished off the bottle’s she’d seen earlier.   
  
Well, nothing ventured nothing gained, right?   
  
“We are going to need whiskey after the food Jones.  I’m answering no more questions unless I’m drunk, and that’s non-negotiable.  Now, I’m an adequate detective, but you live here.  Is there anything else in this house to drink?” She asked, coming to stand in front of FP where he’d perched on the arm of the couch.  Hopefully he did have something, she did NOT feel up to errands in her current outfit.     
  
Contemplating her a bit, he reluctantly just replied, “There’s a bottle of vodka in the freezer.  After you eat something we can revisit this.”   
  
Popping her hip out and opening her mouth, Betty’s retort was cut off by another bang on the door.  Hoping it was just the delivery driver, she wasn’t quite brave enough to open the door.  Feet frozen, she jerkily waved for FP to do something.     
  
FP cocked his head, and actually pointed towards the door. “Oh, you want me to get that?”   
  
What?! What the fuck, was he trying to completely knock her for a loop.  She didn’t know if he realised but she’d been through several in the last few hours, _ christ _ .  Looking again at the door, back to him, then back to the door, she hissed out a “ _ Pleaaaaase _ .” from between clenched teeth.     
  
Sliding off the arm of the chair, FP laughed. “Not Jughead’s knock, Betts.”   
  
Grabbing the doorknob as he smirked back at her, she finally relaxed enough to shook him a truly dirty look.  Crossing the few feet to the doorway, she knew he would need help to carry everything she’d ordered to the coffee table. She’d ordered drinks too after realizing that the mug she’d drank out of earlier was likely the only clean glass in the place.    
  
“Holy shit Betts, how much food did you order?  Are you sure you’re not eating for two? Or four?” FP laughed as he managed to slowly carry the bags over to the table.     
  
Betty shot him a dirty look, then smiled apologetically at the delivery girl.  “Thank you again, do you need me to sign anything else? No? Okay, well have a nice night and drive safe!” She chirped at the girl with her winning Betty smile, before shutting the door with her hip, hands full of a tray of shakes and sodas.    
  
With any luck after all this food he’ll be in a coma, too stupefied to ask anyone questions, she thought to herself. If nothing else, she was damn well going to enjoy a Pop’s Choklit Cheeseburger Deluxe thoroughly as a last meal. 

‘  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Et Voila, Chapter 2!   Thanks for reading; I hope you're enjoying :}  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
.


	3. Take a Breathe, and Leap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty realizes that she's at the end of her rope, and admits she can't handle it alone anymore. Will FP be able to help her? Does she even want him to?

Previously...  
  
  
“Holy shit Betts, how much food did you order?  Are you sure you’re not eating for two? Or four?” FP laughed as he managed to slowly carry the bags over to the table.     
  
Betty shot him a dirty look, then smiled apologetically at the delivery girl.  “Thank you again, do you need me to sign anything else? No? Okay, well have a nice night and drive safe!” She chirped at the girl with her winning Betty smile, before shutting the door with her hip, hands full of a tray of shakes and sodas.   
  
With any luck after all this food he’ll be in a coma, too stupefied to ask anyone questions, she thought to herself. If nothing else, she was damn well going to enjoy a Pop’s Choklit Cheeseburger Deluxe thoroughly as a last meal.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
     Sitting there on the floor, Betty brought another fry up to her mouth after smothering it in ketchup.   Extra salty as well. Pop had outdone himself yet again, though to be fair the amount of food she’d ordered might’ve just concerned the poor man.  She’d stuffed herself will a little bit of everything, never slowing down enough to be able to talk. FP hadn’t tried to talk either though. Apparently he could sense she was trying to pull her thoughts together into a string that wouldn’t make her hyperventilate.  
  
     The trailer next door had the radio up ridiculously loud, but she was thankful she could hear it through the open kitchen window.  Music always helped her lose herself in a calming way for awhile. It was why she bombarded herself with the loudest symphonies when she ran, and why her 90s R&B playlist was memorized after being played before bed so many times.   Whether it was a string section’s vivid flight or a woman’s words, concentrating on singular emotions always helped her to think.  
  
     Betty was tired. Bone tired. Her body ached with the constant alertness and on edge nerves of the past few months.  She’d started falling asleep in class (school being something her tormentor respected enough to see as ‘off limits’ .) She might’ve bought stock in Neosporin for the amount she was going through, and honestly….it was getting harder and harder to even leave her bed in the morning.  Staring at the ceiling of her room every morning, she would force herself to picture everyone she loves' faces. They were only safe as long as she danced this fucked up tune.  
  
     She was so tired of being a broken ballerina on strings.  She could feel an end coming; had for weeks. It was why she’d started drinking until blackout.  It was why her hands weren’t enough anymore. Being hungry, being scared, being afraid, only strong emotions broke her out of her exhaustion enough to make her feel alive again.  She didn’t understand why or how someone’s fixation could last this long, but she knew she couldn’t.  
  
     She’d known there was nothing she could do to fight him without taking unacceptable risks.  Yes, she was smart enough to realize the police had resources and experience enough to likely catch the Black Hood.  But would it be before he’d hurt, or killed, to punish her? Logistically, no. Betty was smart, and ruthless, when she wanted to be.  She’d researched killers, serial killers, torturers and all of their patterns. They were predictable at a point. If she forced him to spiral, he would leave as much destruction in his wake as possible.  She would not risk Veronica, Kevin, Archie, Jughead, Polly, her parents, or even the strangers around her. She’d always known there were casualties counted as acceptable losses of war. But this wasn’t some abstract fighting between countries.  This was a protracted siege and her walls were failing.  
  
     Looking up at FP she fought again within herself.  This man had _resources_ . He was a leader of a gang.  It may not be the Latin Kings, Crips or Bloods; but the Serpents were nonetheless a gang. She knew from gossip and her mother’s research that they’d experience with fighting, drugs, ‘protection’, smuggling, weapons relocation, and other typical gang money makers. But did that mean his ways of gathering information could be a subtle as would be needed to help her?  Would the serpent's, if even willing, leave destruction or harm in their wake worth the help? Did they have any technological prowess to combat the Hood’s obvious skill?  
  
     She could count on FP to not tell anyone she was drinking, or where.  But could she trust him to keep this secret? His own son was adjacently involved.  Would he see the threat as real? What kind of proof could she even offer without provoking the Hood to do something dangerous.  Was she fucked already after not answering the phone? Was it all a moot point anyway? Was he out there hurting someone she cared about because she’d already ignored him?  
  
     Feeling her thoughts start to run and her heart start to pump she put her hands beneath her thighs and pushed down.  The pressure on the wounds on her palms let enough pain break through that she mind cleared again. Taking a deep breathe she refocused her eyes on FP’s face.  She knew he’d been watching her, had seen her thinking things over throughout the meal. She knew he’d seen her just force her body to obey her. Taking a few deep breaths she tried to clear her mind.  Was it worth it? Could she afford to tell him. What would he do if she refused? Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck.  
  
    She would do it.  Watching FP’s brow furrow a bit, she resolved herself.  Fuck the whole question game bullshit. Fuck dancing to some psychopathic asshole’s choreography. She was fucking tired, and she had a scrap of hope.  
  
    _So Fuck it_.  
  
    “I’m going to tell you.  No questions, no bullshit, no holding back.” Betty started, watching FP put his soda down and sit up straighter. “Phone stays on the table, I get the vodka, and you don't interrupt me. “  
  
    She could tell he still didn’t understand why she was so reticent about this.  What could be so awful that this little middle class _perfect_ town princess was drinking herself stupid and wouldn’t tell any of her friends.  Not even the ones she’d had since preschool. Something had to have gotten through to him after the past nights of her drinking at his place though.  She hadn’t exactly been acting her part. Things had slipped enough tonight that she could see he was seriously concerned and wouldn’t be letting it go.  Well, Mr. Forsythe Pendleton Jones II was about to get as much truth as he could fucking handle because she couldn’t handle this alone anymore.  
  
     That was the cold bitter glass of truth at the bottom of this whole situation wasn’t it.  She wasn’t strong enough. She couldn’t handle this alone, not anymore. Maybe it was subconscious at first, that he was the one she’d sought out.  She trusted her instincts though, and it said something about her, obviously, that it was her ex-boyfriend's dad whose company she sought out to get blackout drunk in.  
  
“Once you start, you don’t stop until it’s all out.  I don’t care if we have to stop for a panic attack or two, but you need to get all of whatever it is out. “ FP spoke as he stood up, and headed into the kitchen.  His voice wafted in from the kitchen as she heard the sound of the fridge opening and closing. “And regardless of whatever you believe, I’m not going to tell anyone else; even if I think you should.”  He walked back into the room, and handed her the half-full bottle of Svedka. “Don’t forget to eat more if you need to.” He finished with as he sat back down, back against the couch and ass on the floor, next to her.  
  
     Looking at the coffee table in front of them, she grabbed a half-empty orange soda and dumped a few shots worth into it, swirling everything around with a straw.  She held it up and looked over at him, “Look ma, progress!” After he simply lifted an eyebrow up and down, she figured the mood would just stay un-lightened. Grateful he’d sat next to her so she wouldn’t have to look at him as she talked, she brought the drink to her lips and emptied half the drink.  Leaning back and looked up at the ceiling, and recalled the faces of all her friends. Holding Polly’s in the front of her mind, she mouthed a quick prayer and took a breathe.  
  
“That goddamn ringtone, it’s his.  It may have started with a letter; but  that never would have been enough”  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


  
     At some point Betty had slid down until most of her was beneath the coffee table.  There was a burger wrapper on her left by her ribs and her empty drink was on the floor by her hip.  She could vaguely see FP’s face in the upper right corner of her peripheral vision, but mostly she couldn’t really see anything.  She’d been crying for the last fifteen minutes as she listed the Hood’s favorite requests and subsequent threats.  
  
     When he had her read to him at all hours because her voice was ‘pure and soothing’, and his picture messages of potential victims if she didn’t comply.  That he didn't seem to mind the flat tone of her voice, and that a second Andrews man was his latest favorite threat. When he’d force her to remind him why he couldn’t hurt Veronica; a teenage harlot with loose morals, Kevin; a liar with no familial loyalty, Polly; a teenage stray…..ect.   Her eyes were blurry but she continued on. She’d already told him about her early confiding in Archie, before the Hood lured her to the empty house to try to convert her thinking. That he criticized her outfits and planned them now. That he would remind her not to be a ‘whore’ and talk to her male classmates unless it couldn’t be avoided.  That thank god she’d quit cheer leading before he’d had to provide a reminder of why they were an inappropriate group to associate herself with.  
  
     She told him of the Hood’s rage-induced profanity laid rants in the early hours of the morning on how society was failing, and their town was a microcosm of many examples.  That he would ask her opinion on planning potential punishments. That she would have to choose daily, what was ‘reasonable’ for whatever infractions he’d witness. That a few times she’d refused to play his games, and the consequences.  The nearly flat tire that’d driven Smithers’s limousine into a ditch on the way back from dropping Veronica off at school. The cruel words written in Polly’s favorite lipstick on her bathroom mirror Betty had been forced to take credit for.  The awful and invasive pictures of Kevin his father received at the station, along with every other officer. The cut up t-shirt she’d recognized as Jughead’s that he’s left on her bed one day after she’d ripped his heart out. (She wasn’t allowed mementos of ‘mistakes’ in his eyes.  They'd just make her more prone to relapsing into the past.)  
  
     She told him that she couldn’t take it anymore; but that she had to.  That the other options weren’t viable. How she’d researched, and broken down the math.  How the choice came down to hurting herself, or risking those she loved. That it was an easy choice, she couldn’t do otherwise and the Hood knew.  How missing her friends was a daily heartache. She’d still read or think of something she’d want to tell them, and in the next beat the pain of not being able to would thump her again.  How seeing them laugh in passing was the only joy she really got throughout her week.  
  
     She confessed to FP how now she’d rather die.  That every morning she had to convince herself not to cut herself just a shade too deep.  That drinking until she was numb on purpose, instead of numb from exhaustion made her feel a minutiae better.  That she’d flushed every pill in the entire house (including her parent’s,) down the toilet yesterday because she didn’t think she’d be able to stop herself soon.  That she was just so fucking tired she was scared she wouldn't be able to care about the consequences soon.  
  
     She was sobbing and reaching back up to the table for the rest of the vodka when she wiped her eyes enough to look him in the eyes.  “I drink so I can feel sorry for myself, even after all the choices I’ve made. I’m putting myself through this because I choose to. I could stop this FP.  I just don’t think my peace of mind is worth hurting anyone else for.” She grabbed the bottle and slouched up enough to untwist the top. Pouring more over the remainder of the ice in her cup, she swirled it around and set her mouth firmly. “I’ve never not answered his calls before.  Before….I. I don’t know what he’ll do now after tonight.” She whispered to FP before chucking back the last bit of watered down vodka. “I’m too much of a coward to call and beg tonight. I’m...I’m scared FP. I don’t want to know... and I can’t _face it_ tonight.  After _everything_ , for months, and now this.  Did he find out I’m here? What’s he going to do to punish me.  I just…..I _can’t_ tonight, _I can’t…_ ”  She choked out as a new trail of tears fell from her eyes.  Her skin was so sensitive by now that it almost burned. It physically hurt to finally have the release of telling someone, and all she could think about was what it was going to cost her.  
  
     After a few beats of silence, like he was waiting to see if she’d really finished, FP reached over and plucked the cup out of her hands.  Putting it on the table he then turned to her and just pulled her up and into his arms. His warm arms enveloped and just held her. Starting to sob harder she struggled to push herself back.  Overwhelmed and drained at the same time she stopped when his arms wouldn’t budge an inch. Tears running down her face and into their shirts, she finally, really, let go.  
  
     She sobbed and cried and made those ugly despairing noises she’d muffled against her hands for weeks on her bathroom floor.  She clenched her hands against her chest where they were trapped over and over, shaking with the awful force of her sobs. She didn’t know if she’d ever cried this hard but goddamn it actually felt good.  Not having to muffle her pain and being drunk enough to feel the full spiral of her pain combined to relax her faster than she’d expected. Slowly, her shoulders stopped twitching and her eyes started to clear.  
  
     This time when she pushed against him, FP let her draw away.  Bringing her hands up, she wiped her tears off her face and neck.  Breathing deeply just to balance herself a bit, she looked up into FP’s face and was shocked to see the combination in them.  He was so enraged and so hideously concerned, that his face was more intense thanshe’d seen anyone's before. She started back a few inches until she saw evidence that a few tears had escaped his eyes as well.    
  
     “The story needs a stiff drink, sorry I’ve had all of yours.” She ventured, hoping she could erase some of the intensity from his face.  She wasn’t scared of him per sae, if nothing else she was too exhausted being stressed out after the events of the evening. So many emotions was almost as bad as none she thought ruefully.  
  
     His eyes hadn’t left her face, but he’d clearly been thinking of something else as her words refocused them on hers.  Pursing his lips, he ran one of his hands roughly across his face a few times. “Fucks sake Betty….” He started, before closing his eyes.  Seemingly coming to a decision within himself he turned himself more fully towards her and took one of her hands in his. Turning it over he saw that although they were red and angry, she wasn’t bleeding.  
  
     “You know I’m heavily regretting telling you I’d hold my tongue.” Flipping her hand hack over he just left it loose in his as he visibly resigned himself.  “I’m not letting you deal with this alone anymore Betty. I understand the risks here, but you have options that you may not have been aware or _willing_ to use before.”  Carefully looking into her eyes, FP continued “I’m not just a gang member, I’ve also lived in this town my entire life.  This Hood character never mentioned me specifically or you wouldn't have trusted coming here in the first place, correct?” FP waited until Betty nodded her head, confirming his assumption. “From what you’ve said, this man has been in your home several times when you weren’t there.  I don’t want you going back there tonight, regardless of whether you agree to anything else. You said he’s capable of rages and physical violence. If he’s already shot Fred for sinning, not answering his calls tonight may provoke him. Tell me you won’t go back there tonight Betty.”  
  
     “I…” Betty hesitated.  She’d just explained everything to him.  She didn’t _have_ anywhere else to go .  She could potentially stay a night or two at a motel financially; but they wouldn’t give a room to a teenager. “FP I don’t have anywhere else _to_ go.” She said lowly, slightly ashamed and embarrassed as hell.  
  
     FP just looked at her, glanced down and back up at her again.  “I normally pass out on the couch, so there’s clean sheets in one bedroom at least.  Not sure about in Jughead’s room, but both doors lock. You’d be safe here tonight. I’m not telling you you can’t leave, but you shouldn’t go home tonight.” His eyes starting to edge towards intense again, Betty could feel her body protesting the idea of moving, let alone walking home.  Feeling the edge of panic at the thought of the Hood waiting up for her, she agreed to stay. When she came to drink she usually stayed until late/early? technically anyway.  
  
     “That’s fine.  Safe….yeah. It’s fine.  Mom’s away for a few days at a conference anyway.  And dad….he doesn’t really come home anyway.” She felt herself say faintly as her eyes started to blink a little longer than usual.  
  
     Leaning back against the couch she felt herself ask if he had a sweatshirt she could borrow more than she remembered thinking it.    
  
     Standing up, FP reached a hand down to help her up. “Help yourself to anything in either room Betty.  We’ll talk options in the morning.”  
  
     Glancing at him she first started to walk towards Jughead’s room.  The moment she stepped into the doorway and smelled jughead’s particular scent, she about-faced abruptly and nearly knocked into FP. “I, I can’t.  It smells like him.” She explained.  
  
     “That’s fine, like I said they’re both yours.”  He offered as he backed up and let her pass him.  As she opened the door into his bedroom, she would have sworn she hear him swearing under his breath.  She looked back at him, then past him to the coffee table. Her phone in its little teal case was sitting next to the demolished burgers they’d had before.  Meeting his eyes once more, she slipped into the room and gently closed the door behind her. Her ‘thanks FP’ had coincided with his ‘G’night Betty.’  
  
     As Betty grabbed the first sweatshirt she could find in the cloths pile on the floor of the little closet, she could feel her body start to shut down already.  She didn’t know where to go from here, but she felt selfishly relieved that someone else at least knew now. That she wasn’t really alone anymore in this hell.  
  
     Ten feet away FP clenched his hands into fists as he started to make his own plans for the morning.

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter three...finally!   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long without an update! I'll try to be more regular until the story is over. I transferred and got a slight promotion so life has been crazy as hell lately. This was cathartic to write, although I still feel some of the language was a little stilted. I apologize for my slightly excessive use of commas and semicolons. Trying out a slightly different format as well. I'm excited for the next few chapters. It's not going to be long before it's over but there's some exciting bits coming :)
> 
> THANKYOU EVERYONE for all the kudos and comments, they really do mean everything to me.


	4. Making Some Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty and FP discuss where to go from here. Betty realizes that she trusts FP more than she knew and FP tries really hard not to punch shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to everyone following that it's been so long between updates. I'm not going to promise things anymore, but I've gotten the rest of the plot hammered out for this story at least (so it should be much smoother to flesh it out and upload it hereon.) Thankyou again to everyone reading this. I do appreciate the fact that there seem to be people genuinely enjoying this thing. As always; I still do not own any of the characters herein.

* * *

  
  
Previously   
  


* * *

  
  
  
As Betty grabbed the first sweatshirt she could find in the cloths pile on the floor of the little closet; she could feel her body start to shut down already. She didn’t know where to go from here, but she felt selfishly relieved that someone else at least knew now. That she wasn’t really alone anymore in this hell. Ten feet away FP clenched his hands into fists as he started to make his own plans for the morning.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


     Betty's first thought when she woke up was that these sheets didn't smell like hers. They smelled a bit cinnamon-y, and her mom was a ride or die cotton & bleach woman.  As she opened her eyes taking in the gray jersey smushed before and into her face, it took her mind a few minutes to catch up. A brief rush of panic swept over her followed by the immediate wave of relief as she smelled the leather and cigarette permeating the pillow she had in a death grip. Easing herself up, she brought her hands up to pat her face before stretching out. Through the wall of the trailer she heard the sound of an old engine rumbling and sputtering. Assuming the engine is what woke her, she deliberated between finding her clothes and hiding back under the sheets. She knew she should get ready and home and 'face the day!', but she just couldn't make herself care.  Her shirt at least was still going to be soaked she just knew.

     Sitting up on her heels, Betty reflected on the night before.  Foremost was what FP now knew. For better or worse, someone else did know, and it quite honestly made a world of difference. In the back of her head (okay more like in 90% of it,) she still felt she was a dead man walking. But she'd eaten more food last night than she'd had the rest of the week and she relished in it even if her body was fighting it now. Could be the hangover from the alcohol though. Probably was from the alcohol. Remembering the vodka burning even after puking and confessing her guts out...it was maybe definitely the alcohol.

     Getting off the bed and reaching down to her toes, she felts the floor move the littlest bit as the old engine and it's car moved off. The weakness of the early light around her still lit the inside of the bedroom enough for Betty to see the large pile of clothes she'd rifled through the night before in front of the closet. Damn, her cloths must still be in the bathroom then.  There was always hope for a laundry fairy.  She'd have to deal with just not being able to wear her bra for now; she always hated going without.  A wet bra was worse though. Way worse.  Fuck fashion, give her leggings and a bra and she'd take over the world. Or so she used to think. Looking around again a little more slowly, she tried to take stock of exactly how far she was from where she thought she'd be even at the beginning of the school year. Her head starting to pound Betty resolved to find her damn bra and make some coffee. Surely with Jughead semi-living there the trailer would have coffee somewhere.

Shit.  
  
Jughead.  
  
     He'd wanted to come home last night and instead FP had turned him away because she was there. He'd definitely be back today if she knew him. To get an explanation from FP if nothing else. Jug had mentioned when they were together that he'd never actually seen FP with anyone but his mother, womanizing rumors be-damned. Since he was a nighthawk she should be safe for at least a bit. Hopefully. She was thinking that a lot these past 24 hrs. Hopefully. Hopefully FP would have something to drink. Hopefully _he_ wouldn't call. Hopefully FP wouldn't _explode_ when she told him everything. Hopefully he wasn't in danger now because of her. Hopefully she wasn't dead for not answering last night.

     As she felt her chest tighten again with the pain of a looming attack, she tried to focus on stretching again. Breathing in, and out, she tried to time her breathes with a few turns of her torso and pulls of her arms.It wasn't lessening but the tightness had eased to grow which was good. Another few minutes of breathing and concentrating really hard to not.think.about.it. again and she should be okay. She would be okay. Clenching her fists so that she could feel the scabbed over wounds burn a bit, her breathe released and her chest felt free again. She may have promised not to make herself bleed again, but she needed something. She needed to be able to at least control herself.

     Opening the bedroom door, she popped her head out to make sure she hadn't slept through anything particularly exciting. Seeing nothing alarming, but hearing the shower running she redirected to coffee hunting first. Walking through the living room to the kitchen she grabbed some of the garbage off the coffee table and saw the couch was pushed partially in front of the door. Shaking her head she made a few trips to the kitchen garbage to clear off the table. The windows in the trailer were very easy to break into, but the couch was a sweet idea. She's even managed to wriggle her way through a side window once looking for FP and a drink when he'd not answered her knocks one night. She half-giggled as she remembered how pissed she'd been when she'd realized she'd torn her shirt to hell AND that FP was out somewhere else so she'd have to climb back out the window as well.

     The trailer had become her little refuge. Less than a dozen times sure, but having a hidey hole to escape to was something she could admit had helped save her sanity. Shoving the couch back with her hip she made sure the door was still firmly locked and resumed her search for coffee. After a few cupboards she found a can of Bustelo espresso grounds and filled the old Mr. Coffee on the counter with water. A pot of americanos didn't sound too bad. If there'd been a hope of cream it'd died quietly when she checked the fridge to made sure the remaining food from the night before was properly stored. There was sugar and as she washed two mugs she half-smiled remembering how sweet Jughead liked his coffee. No milk, no cream, nothing to change that deep black color.  But that sweetness? Once you'd taken a sip it smacked you in the face.  It fit him, she realized. Since they were little and playing in the sandboxes of the town with Archie; Jughead was quiet and brooding but sweet and considerate with every playmate. He'd glare at someone and dare them to approach, but if someone had forgotten their toy? He'd immediately give his, not caring when he was left without.

     Exhaling and watching the coffee drip down, she really hoped one day he'd forgive her. He had all of his new moral code and motivations with Southside embracing him and trying to keep her as far away as possible.  Like she'd really have cared what he'd had to do unless it hurt him. Then she'd shut him out completely. Here's another piece of hope; hopefully however everything ended he'd forgive her. See that she'd done what she did to protect him the way he was prepared to try to protect her. Leaning back into the sink counter, she closed her eyes and leaned back. In her mind she could still picture him across from her in their booth at Pop's. The neon lights played off his black hair and she relished in the memory of how content she'd felt. She'd had a boy who whispered poetry to her as she blushed when they kissed. She was grateful for that. She knew not everyone got the chance to realize when something was happening; that it was special. If nothing else, she knew she'd had that. For a few weeks she'd been able to ignore her mother's words, her aching palms healed and she'd worked on the antique car in her parents' garage with blissful images of her sweet boyfriend floating through her head.

     As she took a deep inhale and took a moment to enjoy the smell off the coffee and compartmentalize the pounding in her head, she heard the shower turn off. Her anxiety tried to leap back up, but she pushed down as firmly as she could and poured two coffees. Mixing sugar into hers, she waited for the bathroom door to open before calling out.

"I found espresso and made a pot of americanos. Do you like sugar in yours?" She tried to sound as unruffled as possible. If she could keep herself calm she stood a better chance to determine things herself. The conversation with FP was likely to be a battle of wills, and she couldn't see him backing down from whatever alpha male crap she saw stirring in him last night. This was her burden and she was damned if she'd get FP killed in return for giving her a little refuge.

"Yeah. Please. Give me a minute." came the reply as she heard the bedroom door close. She stirred in a tablespoon or so of sugar into the large mug and left it on the counter next to hers as she darted to the bathroom. It was full of steam and the little fan in the ceiling was honestly just there as a bad joke; but she could still see. Her cloths were still in a wet pil on the floor but her bra looked pretty dry on the back of the toilet. Shimmying it on, she was glad it was drier than it looked. Finger combing her hair, she lamented the loss of her hair tie in her sleep. A ponytail would help her feel more prepared to face FP.  She wasn't scared of him, but she'd be stupid not to notice how upset all of this had been making him.  He was trying not to punch things so as not to scare her she could tell.  Hopefully he could tell how close to panicking she was almost constantly.  The adrenaline kept her awake though, and that was the only silver lining she'd ever found.

     She walked back into the kitchen as she heard she bedroom door open, leaning down to grab the mugs she turned around and tried to muster up a genuinely perky smile. She felt him come around the corner almost before she saw him; but FP was most definitely _not_ a morning person. He didn't look mad at her per sae, but he definitely looked like someone had pissed in his Cheerios (and then proceeded to defile his OJ.) He'd put some dark jeans on and a hunter green tee she'd debated on wearing herself the night before. He hadn't shaved the stubble on his face and it just reinforced the shadows under his eyes and the grim set of his jaw. He reached out and took the mug she offered and swallowed at least half of it before taking a breathe. He went over to the machine and dumped more in before turning around and leaning back against the counter. Betty sat at the little two-top table. The air was heavy with the imminent discussion, but until one of them broke the silence there was a peace to the trailer that she didn't want to break.

     He stood and she sat in that silence while they finished their coffees until he went to refill his again. At that she held out her own mug and raised an eyebrow.

"So.  How hungover are you?" he asked in a low gravel as he poured her more liquid caffeine and passed her the sugar. As she stirred some into her mug and kept her gaze down, he continued "if you need me to heat something up I can turn the oven on."

     Looking up confused, Betty thought for a minute she'd heard wrong. Food? Turning on the oven? This was the opening volley?

"I'm not going to jump down your throat Betty. You obviously felt you couldn't tell anyone and I doubt you'd have told me last night if I'd given you any choice. It's too early to be anything but brutally honest and if you trust me enough to get drunk in my house, I think you can trust me enough to have coffee and a conversation with me." FP retuned with his own eyebrow raised.  
  
     Sitting down on the other chair at the table, he ran a hand over his face in that way he had. She felt bad at that.  She didn't mean to unload a giant mess on him really.  But... fuck if there was anyone who could take care of themselves from her fucked up stalker it would be the leader of a gang. Logically it wasn't a bad gamble. The man had obviously had to deal with physical violence of certain sorts at least. The gun he usually wore certainly gave off a certain subtle 'fuck you'. Christ, she was starting to feel her mind race a bit. Prolific cursing was one of her early warning signs.

"Breathe, it's okay. You're not handling this alone starting now so just get that out of your head. We can sit here as long as we need to, you and I are going to talk this out though.  Then I have some ideas. No one who doesn't deserve it is going to get hurt Betty. You _aren't_ going to have a panic attack right now and I _can_ help you breathe if you forget. " As he finished, FP leaned back in his chair and took a sip of coffee, waiting for her reaction.

     Her mind indeed starting to race, she forced herself to take deep breathes and focus on FP sitting across from her. Laying her hands flat on the table in front of her, Betty felt the wood underneath her hands cool and solid. She took a deep breathe and began the only way she could think to.

"I'm not stupid. I say this not in self-defense but so you understand that I've tried almost everything. Or at least in the begining I did. I know the police have equipment and specailists for this stuff; but you've seen the Sheriff's station." she winced a little as she alluded to FP's arrests and detainments by her old friend's father. "Unless there's been a drastic change in the past few months, they're no better equipped than 90s sitcom cops. When I could never pin point how he seemed to always be watching me, I could never guarantee it was worth the risk of telling Mr. Keller. I stopped keeping a diary, changed all access points and passwords on my laptop and cell phone. Ditto on any website I ever visited. I tried looking for cameras or bugs in my house after the first time I knew he'd broken in but there was nothing to find. The back door keyhole seemed a little scratched, but that could be from my dad coming home drunk and letting himself in. I never spotted anyone following me, and eventually I'd notice something out of place. I have no idea how he watches me but it's been at all hours of the day."

     Running her fingers through her still-damp hair, Betty gathered it up in her hands and then let it fall again, realizing that her ever present stash of hair ties was nowhere near. Forgoing the comfort of the tight pontytail she reached again for the hot mug on the table, and gripped it tightly as she continued.

"If he has a job it's nothing with a regimented schedule or I'd have been able to track it. I've keep a written copy of every interaction we've ever had, times dates, requests or threats or demands....there's been no pattern. The only discernible trends I've been able to isolate are a preference for classical literature to be read to him at night at least twice, on weeknights when I don't have tests. Classical Western European lit.  He's noted and used my particular weakness to threats against young moms like Polly." She took a bracing gulp of coffee, pulled a face and added a bit more sugar.

"He's only made generalized remarks and threats about the Lodges so I believe their security is decent as long as they stay in the Pembrook. He wasn't happy but not outraged when he learned I'd confided in Archie. He also hasn't threatened them as much as the others however. No one close to Archie or his dad have any sort of open schedule though. Jughead, Kevin, Polly, none of them have been singled out above the rest in a way that suggests particular animosity. The number he contacts me from is always blocked, yet when I "accidentally" broke my screen and watched the guy at the mall repair it, there didn't seem to be any type of tracking device put in the battery compartment or anywhere else. So he has to be physically watching me and I don't know how." she finished in a whisper.  
  
     Staring hard into the table she felt to disappointed in herself. She hadn't made any advancements in weeks in even jarring his persona when he called or texted her. She'd found no clues and every little 'trade' she made with him for someone's life was unremittingly random. She was a damn good sleuth but.... but just not good enough when it really mattered it seemed.

     Breaking up the silence, FP reached out and covered one hand that had the mug in a death grip. "You're not responsible for figuring out the mind of a madman Betty. " Waiting until she looked up, he took his hand back and settled again into the chair. "You're an obsession, which means all his time and energy goes into you. You can't beat crazy at its' own game unless you're batshit yourself. You have a car down that road don't get me wrong, but I don't think we're going to have to go farther down it Betts. That's how you lose yourself."

     He lifted his own mug to his lips and drank. Meeting his eyes over the rim, she saw that he was actually trying to poke fun at her. Mouth dropping open in shock she just sat there. " I mean, not that teenagers aren't supposed to make irrational decisions, but he's pushing your teen angst a bit far huh?" Putting the mug down, FP began to rap his fingers on the wood as he began again.

"Dividing you from your friends and your family means you have no support group. Smart. Especially when it involves reporters, the Sheriff and a Lodge. Better still if he could get you caught doing some typical teenage rebellion stunts rather than force you to toe the purity line. Easier for adults to pass off as 'normal teen behavior'. Driving a wedge between you, Jughead and Archie was the smartest, or at least most well planned thing he's done. The Serpents aren't always on the above-side of the law and Jughead is nothing if not my son. With everything Fred has done for him too, Archie is under the same sort of protection to those who look. I'm not bound by a legal code and spying on people is something serpents have experience with.  Keeping you away then from the support of us too in theory "

     Mimicking her position at the table, FP bumped his mug with hers. "You put yourself through a lot to protect the people you love. That's loyalty that you don't see often, even in gang members. You refused to give up and that's a strength." Taking another drink, he leaned back into the sink rim and started again.   "You have more resources than you realize, and I'm not just talking about me. If you could talk with anyone safely I bet you would be able to solve this alone. But you're not alone. I'm going to want to anyway, but I'm asking you first Betty. Let me help."  
  
     Putting one hand into his pocket he took her phone out and placed it on the counter next to him.  Holding his mug calmly in front of him, he just looked at her and waited.   
  
     It took a few moments for her to find her words, but she wasn't going to let him just jump in.  The whole reason she'd been through hell was because she needed to minimize the risks to everyone she cared about.  If what he was going to do was going to put them in harms way there was no benefit to letting him help.  She didn't know if she could hold out much longer but she also wasn't just going to play fast and loose when that....that _asshole_ had all the leverage.

"I...I appreciate it. I really do. But what exactly can you do to catch him that's not going to tip him off? How can you put yourself in danger when you're all Jughead has left?" Betty replied as she twisted some of her hair between her fingers. This was the big hurdle. She couldn't bear to take away Jughead's dad, even if he did dangerous things on his own. This would be her fault. She didn't know if she could handle being the cause of someone's death. That was the whole point of the black hood's threats. He knew she couldn't stand the idea of being the reason why someone was hurting.

"Betts....." he started before rubbing his eyes. Leaning forward, he kept his voice low but forceful. "First, I find a time to have one of my men slip into the back of your house to sweep it for any and all bugs. I'm not saying you didn't search, but the man could have very good ones. Or even painted them into corners. Any number of tricks can be used to disguise them that unless you were trained to find, you wouldn't. I want the same man to program a new phone we know for a fact is free of anything to track you. Can you deal with that?" He paused, waiting for her answer.

"Yeah. As long as you're absolutely positive he won't be seen.  And that he can find something if it's there without tipping him off. I think I can convince him that I went to the conference with mom, fake a ticket or something and buy a little time. I've never not answered before, and he didn't leave any sort of message. So really," She took a deep breathe as she tried to put a bright spin on her next bit, "he might've already hurt someone to 'teach me a lesson' anyway."

     Breathing in, and out, then again really deeply a few more times. "This may all be a moot point, but I'm going to pretend my phone just didn't ring last night.  Ithink I might have a panic attack if I think about it too closely." she finished firmly. Nodding, she looked back up into his eyes. "Agreed. Next?"

"Next, I know you're going to want to say no -  but I need you to agree to having a man shadow you. No one will spot him.  He is very good at this.  He will also know how to look out for who might be watching. Especially if there's no tracking but just plain stalking involved. Don't get mad, but I already started background checks on every person living on your block. This may be as simple as someone who can watch you from the their own home part of the time. Or a car. That can be spotted pretty easy if you know what you're about."

"If you're wrong, and it's not already a moot point, wouldn't thwarting him that way make him more dangerous?" She asked. She could read the writing on that wall clearly enough.

"Not more dangerous than a snake. And we have practice defending out own." With a dark look into his coffee, FP chucked back the rest of his mug.  Shooting a look at her out the corner of his eyes as if daring her to contradict him, he rinsed his mug under the water.    
  
     Betty started to get up and sat back down when he took the empty mug from her and just repeated the process. She spoke while his back was still turned, watching him tense a little here and there as she continued. 

"Fine. But what if he's not my secret creepy neighbor that I've never noticed behind the curtains? What do you propose to do then? I don't....I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to be able to play his game.  I'm not....handling it well For.  I'm holding my shit together with both hands, and they're starting to bleed." Turning her  hands over so that the palms were in the direct sunlight she whispered, "and I'm starting to like it..."  
  
There.  
  
She'd said it.  
  
     She'd all but admitted her grip on sanity was tenuous at this point and she wasn't running down the last stretch if they didn't have as many back-up plans as she could think of.  They may all be mad here; but she would love a fucking life-jacket thank you very much.  
  
     FP turned around, saw her staring at her hands and crossed his arms across his chest in response.   He could see there weren't fresh marks, but that didn't mean as much as people assume.  She'd given her his word however, and she knew he would respect it.  He'd been clear about that every step of the way; in that very  demanding and comforting way she'd been glad to find he had.  

"I don't think the guy we pay can trace calls from a cell phone if he's not there. I don't really keep up with tech that well though. In the past he's been able to give us the closest tower a caller used based on the record. I'm expecting him to be able to do at least that much since he'll be providing the phone you get called on. That'll give us a workable target area. We'll also be recording everything that happens on your phone now Betty. There's sounds in the background of most calls that when turned up can help pinpoint where a person is calling from. And if nothing else I'm going to teach you how to throw a punch."

"What if he's using a burner phone? He's probably aware of the dangers of phone tracking.  What if he's in different locations when he calls? We play wack a mole and hope he doesn't strike back? I'm not ready to take that risk if there's an iota of a chance he could use me as an excuse to hurt someone." She decided to ignore the punching comment. She wasn't even good at hurting herself; how was she gonna punch someone?

"Betty, he's the one who is responsible for who he hurts. Not you. You just do everything you can to stop him, and you are. It's my turn now. " he replied smoothly as if everything had already been decided and he was taking control.  "Bad men are the best at catching other bad men.  We know all the same tricks."   
  
    Betty rolled her eyes at that as she stood up from the table. This was her life dammit.  Couldn't he see that it was all going to be as fruitless as _her_ struggle against him? But _his_ way could end in more people getting hurt and that wasn't acceptable!

"You listen to me dammit." She said forcefully planted her hands on her hips. "I may not be able to dance to his tune for much longer but I'll be damned if I take anyone down with me. If anyone else gets hurt it's not worth it! I refuse to chance my friends safety just so I can take the easy way out. Nothing you've said guarantees anyone's safety!"  
  
"It guarantees yours Betty." FP nearly spat out before slowing down to continue. "And I back everything else. They'll be safer now. My word." He looked at her, halfway between exasperated and pissed off in his demeanor.

"No. You need to listen to me Betts. This man is dangerous, and no matter what you do, it will never be right. or enough. We are stopping him before he decides to go ahead and hurt or kill other people just for the hell of it anyway. Once you grow to like that kind of violence, there's no other way to fill that hole. It takes a special kind of fucked up to enjoy making someone squirm while threatening children and I won't have it in my town. I won't have you being threatened in my town. I may have been a shitty father at times but I'm a damn good Serpent. " Crossing his foot over his ankle, FP leaned back farther and spoke towards the ceiling.

"I keep most Serpent activity out of town and under the radar. There's better and safer money to be made transporting things across the country than there ever will be hustling a small town like Riverdale. Southside has maybe enough jobs for a quarter of our people. How do you think everyone else stays fed? We take care of our own Betty; and you're one of our own."  
  
     Leaving that statement hanging in the air, FP turned and walked into the living room.   
  
     After a moment she followed him.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  Thankyou again for reading - I had to try very hard to reign in the melodramatics in this chapter and I'm not quite sure how well I succeeded haha.


End file.
